This Present Time
by Kallie49
Summary: Humanity's trial has ended, and now Jean-Luc Picard has time to contemplate what that means - for himself, and his relationship with Beverly Crusher. Alternate ending for "All Good Things." P/C. Epilogue added for Christmas.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I wanted to write a short story that would let the kiss from "All Good Things" actually happen, instead of being wiped out by the "Christmas Carol"-type reset button. So, this is my shot at that alternate ending for the episode. Dialogue for the first scene is by Ron Moore and Brannon Braga; the rest will be mine. Feedback very welcomed.

#-#-#-#

He was beginning to jump at shadows.

Jean-Luc Picard had retreated to the quiet of his ready room, both to escape from the perceptible tension on the bridge and to have a chance to regroup after running on adrenaline for too long today. The _Enterprise_ was racing to investigate a massive, unexplained spatial anomaly in the Neutral Zone and his crew was efficiently preparing for any possible Romulan threat there, including battle. He knew he could better focus on his own work in the meantime in solitude. Rather than being able to concentrate in the silence, however, he found himself glancing around frequently, as if expecting his surroundings to change at any time.

 _Time._

He felt his pulse thrumming at his temples. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then blinked twice to refocus his gaze on the computer screen in his other hand. It would probably do him well to have some tea and close his eyes, settle his nerves, but there simply wasn't time. _Time_ , rather, was dogging him, refusing to let up, insinuating itself into his conscious reality. Over the past twenty-four hours _(days? weeks?)_ , with increasing frequency, he had been slipping in and out of time, or more precisely, this time period—for what purpose, at whose initiative, by what means, all mysteries as vexing as time itself. With every shift he retained more memory of the strange future, the altered past, and he hoped that answers would be manifest soon, in at least _one_ time period…

The door chime interrupted his third failed attempt to concentrate on the pressing work of the present. "Come."

Almost before the doors had finished opening, Beverly Crusher was through them, crossing the room with barely a glance in his direction. She stopped in front of the replicator. "Milk, warm. A dash of nutmeg."

As the replicator hummed in the corner alcove, Picard set the PADD down on his desk and watched her with mild bemusement. "What's this?"

Beverly turned towards him smoothly, holding the glass of milk as if it were a hypospray she intended to administer. "A prescription. A glass of warm milk and eight hours' uninterrupted sleep."

He gave her a wry look. "Beverly."

"Doctor's orders," she insisted, settling on the edge of his desk with a familiarity that would have been rather remarkable...if she, alone among the thousand-odd people on board, hadn't assumed such privilege for herself many times before. Truth be told, he rarely minded. They always _had_ had a relaxed notion of the concept of personal space.

Dutifully accepting the glass from her, he set it aside and was about to protest further, but she stopped him. "You're exhausted. Look, I don't know whether you've slept in the past or in the future, but I'm sure you haven't slept in the present." They both smiled at the absurd nature of the situation, but despite her light tone the doctor was adamant. "Now get some rest, or I'll have you relieved and sedated."

Picard chuckled. "Yes, sir."

Her smile faded and she dropped her gaze, fingers twisting on her thigh. His eyes narrowed in concern at her sudden change in demeanor. "What?"

Blue eyes bright with unexpected emotion, she was silent. Almost on instinct he slipped his hands over hers. "Hey," he murmured. "Beverly?"

She shook her head in frustration, tried to collect herself. "As a physician, it's often my job to give people unpleasant news. To tell them that they need surgery or that they can't have children." She faltered again, finished softly: "Or that they might be facing a _difficult_ illness…"

The neural defect—she'd found it this morning through her scans, as they'd tried to determine what was happening with his time shifting, and he recalled she had seemed shaken by the discovery then as well. He hadn't realized it would have affected her so strongly. He himself had been concerned, of course, but with so much else happening since then he hadn't yet dwelt on the reality—or at least, the _possible_ reality of illness that the defect represented. He tried to console her with that reminder. "But you said yourself that this is only a possibility."

"But you've been to the future," Beverly countered. "You _know_ it's going to happen."

Perhaps it was optimism—she always accused him of that—or perhaps simply denial, but he found that he refused to accept that the ravages of neurological decline lay inevitably in his future. Even if they did, what purpose could it serve to worry so far in advance? In the here and now, instead, all he wanted was to reassure the woman he cared for the most. "I prefer to look on the future as something which is not written in stone." He smiled up at her warmly, tightened his grasp on her hands. "A lot of things can happen in twenty-five years."

Time slowed, stretching out over several heartbeats, a moment of deep affection between friends hovering on the edge of becoming something more...

And then she kissed him.

The universe of possibilities collapsed into a singular reality that astonished him with its clarity. In recent months he had begun to feel that the increasing closeness in their relationship was destined to _always_ be limited, as if by an asymptote, with time slowly extinguishing any lingering hope that the line might ever be crossed. But in one brilliant instant it was—of all the places and times, it was _here_ — _now_ —

Without hesitation he returned the kiss, a thrill coursing through him as he felt the softness of her lips.

Beverly pulled back, a slight flush on her cheeks, and gave him a tiny smile. "A lot of things can happen," she agreed.

She slipped off his desk quietly and headed out of the ready room, leaving him with a wondering smile on his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

It was Q. Picard had half suspected, should have realized earlier, but _of course_ it was the meddlesome entity's fault that he was bouncing through time at unpredictable intervals, part of a grotesque trial that Q claimed would affect the very fate of humanity. And it was all somehow tied to the disruptive spatial anomaly in the Devron system that was growing larger as it moved backwards in time.

It still wasn't entirely clear whether Q was acting with malevolence, as he often did, or with better motivations. Either way, Picard was suitably irritated at the entire exercise. He was taking it all mostly in stride, staying focused on solving the problem. What else could one do, after all? But the entire situation remained unsettling. It was disrupting his own life. Placing his ship in harm's way. Threatening the health of his entire crew.

Beverly's words echoed in his mind as he made his way from sickbay to the observation lounge: _Eventually, it may kill all of us..._

Of far less importance than this threat, but still bothersome in its own way, Q appeared to find it highly amusing to have set up Picard's future as one which subverted virtually every relationship he had with his senior staff, and they with each other. Deanna Troi was dead. A decades-long rift had opened up between Will and Worf over circumstances surrounding her death. Picard was largely estranged from Geordi and Data.

And he was—well, _divorced_ from Beverly. He wasn't able to clearly recall details about her, about _them_ , about much of _anything_ , due to the neurological disease with which he was stricken in that time. He was, in fact, half senile in the future Q had designed. But his future self carried a burden of disappointment, of grief, even of bitterness, with respect to the failure of his relationship with his former wife. Time had softened the hurt and they still felt love for one another, but the fact remained that despite the strength of their bond, it hadn't lasted. But that was scarcely conceivable. What was he, in the present, supposed to do with _that_ knowledge?

Picard clenched one fist, frustrated, before finally deciding that at least for now he would simply ignore it. He would not be distracted from the tasks at hand based on distress about his future-as-conjured-by-Q. As he'd told Beverly, he didn't even necessarily believe it _was_ the future. But regardless, either that particular future would occur, or it wouldn't. He wanted to concentrate on the present, on what had changed for them here—

Because although any outward sign of the shift in their relationship was likely too subtle to be observed, the change was titanic nonetheless. It was clear in the way she brushed against him, held his gaze a bit longer, stood a bit closer. Even in the midst of a critical situation, even as he reined in his thoughts to focus on the problems facing them, he found himself impatiently awaiting every new chance to see her—and it appeared the desire was mutual.

 _A lot of things can happen..._

He had never intended to fall in love with her; by all rights he never should have. But having done so nonetheless, the one conviction he had held fast to, for _two decades_ , had been to never tell her. Over time they had cultivated a uniquely strong friendship, occasionally flirting with more, yet that conviction had always held—until six months ago, on Kesprytt, when their enforced telepathic link had meant the truth could no longer remain hidden in his own mind. She had been stunned—but her own thoughts betrayed that she too had long felt this attraction, and a love that might be more than friendship. With that shared intimate knowledge, with every sign showing she might be receptive, he'd had the confidence to propose the possibility of exploring a relationship...only to feel a fool as she had turned him down. He had swallowed his crushing disappointment, resolved to let the matter lie…but he still could feel, from time to time, the excruciating touch of her lips brushing across his cheek, an agonizing offer of apology.

And then two days ago, she'd come to him and showed through another, very different kiss that it might finally be time to fall from their endless orbit around the invisible center of gravity that held them forever together and apart.

If this blasted threat could be neutralized, perhaps they would soon have time to explore what lay beyond that event horizon—together.

#-#-#-#

In the violent center of the rupture in spacetime three time periods existed in one. His own time shifts no longer exactly sequential, somehow three versions of Jean-Luc Picard saw three _Enterprises_ from three viewpoints across three times—but all shared a single goal: seal the rupture.

Save the human race.

" _We're losing containment!"_

" _Steady, Mr. La Forge! Maintain position!"_

The ships pitched and shuddered, their static warp shells a fragile barrier against the deadly vortex formed by the collision of time and anti-time—the collision that would disrupt, was disrupting, had _already_ disrupted, the beginnings of all life on Earth, unless...

Unless he could somehow pass Q's infernal test of him, of humanity itself, _now_.

One barrier breaching—one blinding flash of light from starboard—

" _Transfer emergency power to the antimatter containment system!"_

" _I'm trying, Captain! Containment field is at critical!"_

Q's voice taunting him, in the future that existed at once with the present, and now another explosion, at once around him and also off the port bow—

" _I'm losing it!"_

One more brilliant burst of white—

And annihilation.


	3. Chapter 3

_Alone in the ancient courtroom, head in hands, he sat helplessly. Despaired at his failure. Agonized at its enormity. And then—_

 _Heard mocking applause at his side._

 _Felt the faint stirring of hope._

 _Somehow, it had all worked. Humanity was saved; the paradox, solved; the temporal anomaly, collapsed._

 _The cosmic test, passed._

 _See you...out there..._

Jean-Luc Picard gripped the arms of the captain's chair and took stock of his surroundings. The ship was no longer shaking hard around him. A placid starfield filled the main viewscreen display. To his right, Commander Riker—not the grey-haired admiral of twenty-five years hence—was grimly rising to check on the ensign at helm who'd been thrown from her chair. To his left, Deanna Troi, in her blue standard-issue duty uniform, was alive and well, her dark eyes shining with subsiding alarm. And behind him, Worf—not his security chief of years past, Tasha Yar—was reviewing incoming damage reports at tactical and confirming minimal casualties.

This was the present, then; in the end, Q had deposited him back in his own time.

Or at least, he fervently hoped so. _Beverly…?_

He swallowed around a dry throat. "Report, Mr. Data."

His second officer swiveled around to face him from Ops. "The combined warp shells appear to have worked, although the ships from the other time periods were evidently destroyed. The temporal anomaly has collapsed."

"Well done. Is there any residual temporal disturbance?"

"None immediately detectable, sir," Data responded. "Further scans could reveal additional information."

Picard shook his head. "For what it's worth, Commander, I believe we may be in the clear for now—Q has just told me as much." He paused, reflecting that for all that he had apparently been instrumental in their surviving the danger of the anomaly, Q was less than trustworthy... "I would, of course, still like to be certain. Proceed."

"We're still in the Neutral Zone," Riker pointed out, retaking his seat. "With the anomaly gone we have no valid reason to remain here against orders."

"One would hope that the Romulans would respect the need for at least _some_ additional investigation," he frowned. "But perhaps it would be prudent to leave as soon as possible. Mr. Worf—"

"Captain, the Romulan warbird is hailing us," Worf reported.

Picard caught a sideways smile from his first officer. "On cue," he muttered with a sigh. He rose carefully to his feet and tugged on his uniform hem. "Onscreen, Lieutenant."

Tomalak's overlarge image peered at him suspiciously from the viewscreen. "Captain Picard. Our sensors picked up several large explosions in the center of the anomaly. I trust you are well?"

Picard smiled broadly. "Thank you for your concern, Commander. The _Enterprise_ is quite all right. And as you can see, the anomaly has collapsed."

"No sign of it at all," Tomalak agreed. "So I'm sure you agree that Starfleet Command would not approve of you remaining in the Neutral Zone any longer."

"Nor the Romulan government, you," Picard returned smoothly. _So much for additional investigation_. "I would suggest a mutual withdrawal from this system—though perhaps, we could each agree to leave probes to conduct additional scans of the area?"

The Romulan considered the proposal. "I will agree to that. A pleasure as always, Picard. _Terix_ out."

As the viewscreen winked off, Picard exhaled and turned to survey the bridge, finding all eyes expectantly on him. There were times, he reflected, as in the face of an overwhelming catastrophe, when a captain needed to project a confidence or authority he might not feel.

This wasn't one of those times.

Gratified to have, after everything that had just transpired, a perfectly manageable situation at hand, he spoke decisively. "Mr. Data, deploy a Class 2 probe to scan for any additional temporal anomalies. Ensign Gates, as soon as that is done, set a course back to Federation space and engage, warp factor 7. Number One, I want preliminary incident and status reports from all section heads within two hours, and assemble the senior staff at sixteen thirty for a debrief." A glance around at all. "We will remain at yellow alert until we have cleared the Neutral Zone."

A chorus of ayes sounded at the orders and he nodded once, approvingly. As for himself—perhaps he ought to remain on the bridge until the ship had returned to Federation space, but all assignments were given and his presence wasn't likely to be required immediately. Given that...there was someplace else he needed to be.


	4. Chapter 4

He saw her immediately as the sickbay doors hissed open, red hair falling across her face as she bent to study a chart, and he felt a flash of profound relief that she was _there_ , just as she should be. For the past few days, every time a door had opened, every time he had awoken, every time he'd so much as turned around, his surroundings might have changed without warning, throwing him out of time again...

From the far wall she caught his eyes on her, nodded for him to come her direction. She spoke briefly to the nurse next to her as Picard weaved his way across the crowded room.

"Captain." Beverly smiled, though her eyes were serious. "We've been monitoring the effects of the temporal energy on the crew—I should have a preliminary report ready soon. Is everything all right?"

Picard nodded, suddenly rethinking the wisdom of having come. The _Enterprise_ was his ship...but he was well aware that he wasn't the one in command here in sickbay. "Yes. I don't mean to interrupt your work."

"No, not at all," she said, something flickering in her gaze. Glancing around, she made a quick decision, tilted her head at the door behind her. "Let's step this way for just a minute."

 _Not to her office_ , he noted, as he followed her back to the private recovery room, away from the bustle of the main ward. As the door slid shut behind them she turned towards him, leaning in slightly, and the air surged with a current that sparked the instant their eyes met. It was the first time they'd been alone together since the ready room. Picard swallowed, trying to slow his quickening pulse, feeling an unaccountably strong desire to kiss her again.

He waited, instead, for her to speak.

Beverly arched an eyebrow at him, the barest hint of mirth in her eyes. "So just to confirm, Jean-Luc, since we're here now—you've saved humanity?"

Picard laughed, as much out of relief as at the absurdity of it all. "Somehow. Yes."

Her mouth quirked upwards. "Well, don't let it go to your head," she said dryly. "Given it was all your fault in the first place." She was easing closer, brushing against his arm.

"Beverly—" His breath caught as her hands drifted upwards to touch his chest, her eyes still locked with his.

She had always had an electrifying effect on him. He had always been constrained in how to respond.

No longer.

In a swift motion he closed the remaining space between them, and kissed her. Gently at first, as he savored the touch and taste of her, and then more hungrily as she murmured in pleasure against his mouth. A wave of exhilaration swept through him—at having survived this existential threat, at the incredible sensations of her body pressing fiercely against him as he urged her closer. Dreams of the past could never have come close to the reality of her now.

Eventually he drew back a fraction, breathing deeply, letting his arms slide down to settle at the curve of her hips.

Beverly's eyes were dancing, their translucent blue color all the more striking against the matching sky hue of her uniform. "Why hello, Jean-Luc," she said, her voice slightly breathless in a way he'd never heard. "Did I mention I was actually glad you saved humanity?"

"No, as I recall you only gave me a hard time about it."

"Ah. Rather ungracious of me."

He smiled wryly at her, pushed her hair back over one shoulder. "I don't believe I minded."

She grinned, then brushed her lips against his cheek, making him inhale sharply at the touch. "I've been wanting to do this again for days," she admitted.

"So have I." He kissed her again, softly this time, but then hesitated. "Beverly, I know we haven't talked about any of this yet…"

"No. But not here." She dropped her gaze to his collarbone, fingers tracing a line there for a long moment before she looked up again, apologetic. "We should probably be getting back now," she murmured.

Picard nodded reluctantly, taking a slow step back. Though every part of him was eager to continue, of course she was correct—after all, he thought ruefully, this was hardly appropriate conduct while on duty. They both understood they could steal only a moment. But with fortune there would be plenty of time in the future—and not the future he'd just come from, he added silently, feeling a twinge of uncertainty as he remembered the unhappy circumstances of that time period...

"Jean-Luc." He glanced up, pulled back out of his thoughts by the note of controlled anxiety that had crept into her voice. "Do you think Q is really finished with us—with you, this time?"

He took her hands in his, tried to convey his reassurance. "One can never be certain when it comes to Q, but...I believe so."

"Good," she said, adding softly, "I'd rather you stay in this time period for awhile."

He thought again about the other time periods he'd unwillingly experienced. Clearly there were aspects of them he'd still need to reckon with...but his preference on where—on _when_ —to be was unequivocal. He squeezed her hands, gratified that she felt the same way. "Me too."

Beverly rubbed her thumbs on the back of his hands, then took a deliberate breath and straightened her posture. They crossed the corridor back the way they'd come from the main sickbay, and when she spoke there her voice was firm again. "Thank you, Captain...I'll have my report in time for the briefing."

He suppressed a smile, catching the faint glimmer in her eyes as he nodded to leave. "Very good, Doctor. I'll see you there."


	5. Chapter 5

To those I can't thank directly...thank you for the nice reviews! They are very much appreciated :)

#-#-#-#

Draining the remainder of his rapidly cooling tea, Picard scanned the last of the initial incident reports he'd received ahead of the staff debrief, then glanced up. "Assessment?"

Will Riker, resting one elbow on the opposite side of the ready room desk, was finishing his own review. "I'm mainly concerned about the possible hull degradation Geordi reported. We should probably get that checked out sooner rather than later."

"Agreed. Have helm change our course to Starbase 23 for immediate inspection."

Riker nodded, inputting the orders, and took another sip of his coffee. "One other note, on Geordi's surgery to remove his remaining visual implants—Dr. Crusher says that can wait awhile if he's still needed with ongoing repairs."

Picard frowned. "I believe engineering can manage, if Mr. LaForge would like to proceed sooner. His health should be the priority."

"Of course. I'll make sure he knows that." Riker shook his head in quiet wonder. "It is incredible, isn't it?"

"Indeed." The temporal anomaly had been responsible for causing Geordi to grow new optic nerves and regain sight in a way Beverly said was unprecedented. But it wasn't an unmitigated good. It _was_ incredible for him to obtain ordinary vision...but then again, _ordinary_ was not what he'd known his entire life; in many ways _ordinary_ represented a step down in his perception. The effect would be life-changing for him in ways it would likely take some time to adjust to.

Casualties from the anomaly had otherwise been thankfully minimal, all things considered. Still, there were a few other crewmembers similarly affected by significant health changes, and two, including Beverly's trusted nurse Ogawa, had tragically suffered miscarriages due to the cellular decomposition effects of the anomaly. Q's experiment had cost them far too dearly...

Picard glanced at his chronometer, then grimaced and stood up to get another mug of tea. "I can finish up here, Number One."

"Yes, sir." Riker finished his coffee and swung one leg over the back of his chair to stand in a smooth motion. "I'll be on the bridge."

Studying the weary cast of his first officer's expression, momentarily seeing there a faint echo of the embittered admiral he had met in the future, he noted the depressed demeanor that had not lifted over the past hours—days, really. Picard paused. Perhaps he ought to inquire...but he'd tried once before, and didn't want to intrude again at present. Especially with considerations of the future yet to be reckoned with. "Good work today, Will. I'd encourage you to take advantage of any down time on the way back to starbase."

"Thank you, sir." The taller man gave a half-smile, a bit of life coming back into his blue eyes. "It is poker night tonight. It will be nice to get back to the normal routine."

As the doors shut, Picard settled back into his chair and sighed. For his part, it was time to return to what he'd been contemplating since even before the anomaly had been collapsed: what to tell his senior staff about the future—such as it might be. But the decision was no more evident now than it had been. There were plenty of regulations and guidelines governing time travel set by the Starfleet Department of Temporal Investigations, of course. He'd had cause to review them a handful of times in his career. The key directive was never to interfere with the timeline by disclosing knowledge of the future into the past.

Q's interference, though, didn't appear to fall within the conventional analysis. As Data had pointed out, there were multiple discontinuities already evident in the timelines Picard had visited, so there was no certainty anything would unfold as he'd seen. Assuming it had been an alternate, or even imagined, timeline, there shouldn't be any damage to this timeline if details of his experience were shared.

Still, he mused, sometimes prudence dictated discretion even where regulations might not. They'd survived their encounter with the anomaly and time was now proceeding quite normally, so in theory he could file a confidential report and say nothing further about the matter...and maybe that would be for the best. He knew that Worf and Deanna had recently begun a relationship and, as he'd just seen again, Will Riker seemed distressed by it. But it was hardly his custom—or his place—to step into such matters even in normal circumstances. He was ordinarily a private man and even were he not, the captaincy was a solitary vocation by its nature, necessitating a certain distance on his part. Perhaps he should simply let events play out as they would.

But Will, Deanna, Worf...after seven years together they weren't just his staff, he reminded himself, but his _friends_. Weren't they? He'd been visited by his own warped Ghost of Christmas Yet-To-Come and glimpsed a family broken by discord and distrust. If he had a chance now to play Marley in a sense, warn them of what grief might come if they didn't take care to guard against it, didn't he owe it to them all?

And to Beverly?

A knot clenched in his stomach. While he'd earlier resolved to flatly ignore Q's imagined future with respect to Beverly and himself, he had seen it nonetheless. So even as he was tempted to withhold at least _those_ particular aspects of his experience as being too personal or uncomfortable, he felt he had the same obligation to her as to everyone else to admit what he'd seen. It hardly seemed fair that he'd have to talk about divorce when he didn't even remember all the blasted _details_ —

But then they didn't really matter, did they?

While he wanted to dismiss Q's future out of hand, to insist such an outcome could never occur...he wasn't actually certain of that. The brutal truth was that he couldn't promise he could never hurt her that badly.

Because he _had_ hurt her, once, long ago.

Of course he'd told himself his actions were justified, that abandoning her after Jack Crusher's death was the best way of _protecting_ her, so she wouldn't always be reminded of the pain of losing her husband by seeing the man who'd been responsible. The cold reality was that his actions had been driven far less by concern for her wellbeing and far more by his own crippling guilt and shame—and in consequence Beverly had only been further wounded by the abrupt loss of his friendship exactly when she needed him most.

No, it wasn't inconceivable that he could sabotage a relationship with the woman he dearly loved. Bitterly reflecting on his own shortcomings, Picard knew it was all too well conceivable.

And yet—if he could make no guarantee, he _did_ know, with certainty, that he would do everything in his power to ensure he never repeated that mistake.

Because the future he desired with her—the future he wanted to give her, if she let him—was one in which her blue eyes never looked at him with such steely hardness, where the grim set of her mouth wouldn't betray years of pain. It was one in which, instead, her eyes would reflect joy and contentment that he had done his utmost to provide for her.

But it would have to begin with honesty.

In the end, he realized, it simply was not for him to decide whether his crew could handle any knowledge about their possible futures, or whether he should pick or choose which details to disclose.

Q had arrogantly played God in their lives for long enough. Picard was not about to do the same.

He let out a breath. The decision was made, then. He set back to work on his notes for the briefing...but couldn't shake off a lingering unease.

In an instant he was reaching out, reflexively, the message sent almost before he had consciously composed it.

 _Beverly—would you care to join me for dinner tonight?_

Several minutes passed, during which he caught himself glancing frequently at the message indicator for a reply. Finally it blinked onto his screen:

 _I have plans for later this evening, and you, Captain, are under standing orders to get some rest._

Somewhat nonplussed, he reminded himself that there would be plenty of time to see her later...but he was still disappointed.

Until one more message came through, and he smiled.

… _(but I'd love to anyway)._


	6. Chapter 6

The muted clink of chopsticks against plates and glasses against the polished table surface were the only sounds breaking the quiet of his quarters. It wasn't unusual for them to pass a meal in companionable silence, he reflected; but despite outward appearances, the circumstances tonight were hardly usual. Beverly had yet to comment on anything he'd said during the briefing, and he was beginning to wish for a return of their telepathic link so he could divine what she was thinking.

In the alternative, he supposed ruefully, he could simply ask.

"Is the meal all right?" he ventured at last.

"Hmm? Yes, it's good." Dressed in a form-fitting, burgundy boatneck tunic and long tan skirt, Beverly looked casually stunning to him. But her smile was wan as she gestured in half-hearted affirmation with a piece of albacore sashimi. "I'm sorry, I'm not being very good company right now."

"It's all right. Perhaps I should have been a bit less forthcoming after all." Picard sighed and prodded a cucumber roll with his utensils, then took a sip of wine instead. He'd changed out of uniform into more comfortable clothes as well—a favorite patterned olive v-neck shirt and dark trousers—but still felt a tension in his shoulders as he mentally debated the merits of his decision again.

"No, it's probably better that we knew—that _I_ knew. It's just..." She shrugged and raised an eyebrow suggestively at him. "To be honest, it's not exactly what I expected we'd be thinking about this evening."

He relaxed a bit, smiling back at her in apology. "No."

"Not that I don't think about such things frequently," she continued under her breath, raising one hand to massage her forehead.

"What do you mean?"

Beverly glanced back and forth between his perplexed expression and her place setting, then pushed back from the table and held out her wine glass. "If we're going to talk, Jean-Luc, I think I'm going to need some more of this…"

Watching her carefully, Picard obligingly poured them both more of the pinot blanc before relocating to the couch, abandoning dinner. Beverly settled next to him, pulling one leg up on the couch and pressing against his thigh as she angled toward him. He hesitated for an instant, unused to crossing the boundary lines they always kept, but let his hand come to rest on her knee. Even that small intimacy, previously forbidden, caused flash of heat throughout him.

He hoped this conversation would go well. It was going to be hard to concentrate.

Beverly took another drink and stared thoughtfully down into her glass for a moment before speaking. "I admit, Jean-Luc, it's a little bit hard to know what to say about this future you experienced. I had no idea that's what was happening in that time period. Although I do like the notion of having my own ship," she allowed, with just a hint of her usual teasing tone.

He rubbed his thumb over her knee. "Beverly, I am sorry. I didn't want this to affect what was...what is happening between us. But I felt an obligation not to pretend I hadn't experienced it, or to keep it from you…."

"I understand. It'd be a hell of a thing to keep to yourself," she agreed dryly.

Picard smiled, studying the auburn layers of her endlessly fascinating hair, then asked cautiously, "But you said— _you've_ thought about it before somehow?"

"Not _divorce_ , specifically. Of course not." She shook her head, searching for a way to explain, and when she spoke again she sounded distant, distressed. "More along the lines of—everything else that could go wrong. I couldn't stop thinking about everything else that could go wrong." Her voice dropped to a hollow murmur. "You wondered...why I was afraid. That was why." Regret flashed in her expression, and he knew she was referring to Kesprytt, to the night she had turned him down.

He reached up instinctively to touch her face, and she met his gaze for an instant, rose-colored lips parting slightly before she looked away again. "I still don't understand," he admitted quietly.

"Jean-Luc, we almost didn't make it today. Or the last time. Or the time before that. How many times has something like this anomaly threatened us—threatened _you_?" Beverly gripped her wine glass more tightly and took a deep, steadying breath. "I knew—of course I knew how you felt, after Kesprytt. But it made—a certain sense to me that if we stayed friends, it wouldn't hurt quite so much, if I ever lost you. And I kept telling myself that, but the truth is, I realized it couldn't hurt any more than if I never had a chance to be with you."

 _Oh, Beverly_. He remembered the pain in her eyes that night, realized now that he had seen it too often, without recognizing, many more times over the years—after the Borg, after Celtris Three. Earlier he'd acknowledged he had once hurt her through his actions, which he believed he could control in the future—but he had never truly considered how he could hurt her by the mere fact of their closeness, after all the grief and the losses she had suffered throughout her life, and what they had suffered through together. He had learned, on Kesprytt, how strongly she felt for him, but even with all her thoughts and feelings laid bare, how deeply hidden even from herself had been this fear of loss of those she loved? And what had finally changed, to make her want to risk an even deeper loss, if it meant a closer bond? "The neural defect," he murmured.

Beverly nodded. "When I found that defect, I thought I couldn't afford to waste any more time." She looked up, finally, her blue eyes penetrating. "And then in some cosmic joke of Q's, _time_ itself was almost lost."

"It appears to be back to normal now," he offered, with a faint smile.

"Yes, except for your lovely _memento mori_ future." Her hand shook slightly as she took one more sip of wine.

Picard took the glass from her hand and placed it to one side with his own. Not knowing exactly what to say in the moment, knowing only that words were inadequate to allay an emotion running deeper than rationality, he pressed his lips softly to hers in answer. She sighed, melting against him as he slid his hands along her thigh, up the smoothness of her back, though her long hair, as if through his touch he could convince her that _this_ , all of this—their friendship, their love, their electric attraction—was stronger than the fear. Was worth anything that might follow. Was even worth the risks of pain and loss—

Because the sense of perfect belonging they had found together, had finally found their way to acknowledge after so many years, was so much greater.

Beverly pulled back, tracing her fingers along his jaw, regarding him with a softness in her gaze that set his heart pounding against his ribs. "Do you know," she mused, "when you first told me about the Irumodic Syndrome, that first night, I wondered why you were apparently alone in the future. Actually, I wondered where _I_ was. It seemed wrong somehow that I wasn't there." She offered a lopsided, self-deprecating smile. "Where did things change so much that I felt it was natural for me to assume I'd always be there in your life?"

He didn't answer at first, still trying to control his breathing. _He'd_ always wanted her to be with him, but had never expressed the sentiment in quite so many words—although she'd probably gleaned as much through their link. But as things stood, he'd had no claim on her beyond their friendship, nothing that would inevitably have bound them together in the future. So it had never been an assumption for him...only a faithful hope. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "But if you do feel that way, I would never say no to you being with me."

She smiled, the first true smile he'd seen from her that night. "I know, Jean-Luc. That's why I'm here." She kissed him again. "And I promise I'll be back...but I am going to go now."

"Ah. Your plans," he remembered, blowing out a breath and running one hand over his smooth head. "Of course. Are you sure I can't convince to you stay?"

"I did promise Will I'd be at the poker game tonight. And besides, all those things you said today about friendships, sustaining relationships—they are important," she reminded him. A new thought occurring to her then, she tilted her head at him. "Why don't you come tonight too?"

Picard hesitated. "I don't know. I never have before."

Beverly brushed her hand over the back of his neck, sending tiny jolts of pleasure down his spine. Did she have any _idea_ what effect she had on him? The impish look in her eyes suggested she most certainly did... "Come anyway," she insisted, warming to the idea. "There's plenty of room at the table for you and it will be fun." Her smile widened. "I promise to go easy on you."

"Hmm. You may regret saying that later." Picard considered. He was the captain; his staff needed down time without worrying about protocol or decorum in his presence. So in all the years he'd been aware of Riker's senior staff poker game, it had never occurred to him to ask to join—nor had he been invited. But the invitation was extended now...and he did think it would be nice to try to start to deepen the friendships whose importance he'd just been so vividly reminded of. "Well—if you think I'd be welcome," he said finally.

Beverly nodded, her eyes shining with warmth, and took his hand. "Jean-Luc...you always were."

#-#-#-#


	7. Chapter 7

_Epilogue_

"Jean-Luc. I feel very overdressed."

Three days after their encounter with the temporal anomaly, the _Enterprise_ was docked at Starbase 23 for repairs. Picard had authorized shore leave for the crew and, having finished most of his own reports and official duties, intended to take time off as well. Despite its amenities, however, the starbase offered no destinations he couldn't better recreate on the holodeck, so he'd decided to stay onboard ship and invite Beverly to join him for an outing here. Now she was facing him in the corridor, dubiously holding out her arms to display a slim-fitting tan parka, white knit scarf around her neck and matching hat in hand. Despite her protestations, though, the outfit _was_ practical...not to mention quite flattering on her, besides.

"It's perfect," he assured her. "You may want to go ahead and put on the hat, though." He pulled his own black wool cap down over his ears.

"Hmm." Her skepticism did not abate as she tugged on her hat, flame-orange strands of hair curling out from underneath it. "You know, usually I prefer my holodeck destinations to be climate-controlled."

Picard tapped the wall panel to confirm settings and initiate the program. "What about the Orient Express?"

"The train is warm inside," Beverly shrugged, following him in from the ship's corridor. The heavy holodeck doors closed and vanished behind them, leaving them in the middle of a snowy grove, the forest floor dappled with bright patches where sunlight filtered through the tall firs. "Not like this," she added as she blew out a visible breath into the suddenly frigid air, rubbing gloved hands together and stamping her boots experimentally on the hard ground.

Picard smiled and turned to lead the way up the rocky path inclining ahead. He thought about pointing out that at least he'd allowed for sunshine and no wind, but let it be. "It's good for the constitution. Come on, it's not far."

The perfect stillness of the woods was interrupted only by the steady crunch of snow under their boots as they climbed. Eventually the path opened up to a level clearing against the hillside, with a small cottage just beside the edge of a steep slope. He stopped well short of the edge, knowing Beverly's fear of heights, but hoped she would still appreciate the view.

Beverly brushed against his arm as she came to a stop beside him. Her cheeks were rosy from the moderate exertion of hiking in the cold, her blue eyes strikingly clear in the sunlight as she looked out towards the valley. "Where are we?" she murmured, curious.

"Besançon, near where I grew up. I found this place abandoned as a youth and escaped here on occasion."

She took in the sleepy cityscape, medieval architecture outweighing modern, crowded rust-colored roofs outlined by narrow streets lightly dusted in white. The winter sun glinted off a river just visible at the bottom of their field of view, with an ancient bridge spanning the water and taller hills in the distance. "It's lovely. I've never been here."

He smiled ruefully, gazing out at the landscape and speaking almost to himself. "I haven't been myself in probably forty years. I don't think it's changed much in a thousand, though."

She was quiet for a moment. "Why now?"

Picard shook himself out of a momentary reverie and turned towards her—the only person he'd ever so much as thought to bring here with him, even if "here" was only a recreation from his memories. "It's quiet. Peaceful. I thought you might enjoy it."

Her gaze was steady, perceptive. "I do. But that doesn't answer the question." There was no real reproval in her voice, only a mild statement of fact.

He inclined his head in silent acknowledgement. He didn't mean to deflect, but he couldn't entirely explain it to himself either. By the time they'd met he had long since left this place behind, intending never to return. Yet there was a part of him that, even as he lived the untethered life of an explorer of deep space, had always stayed rooted in this provincial countryside. It seemed important, somehow, to share that, even if he didn't know why. Perhaps he had some notion that as much as he wanted Beverly to be part of his present, his future, he also wanted to share with her something of his past...

These nebulous thoughts had floated through his mind as he reflected on recent events...but at least in one specific regard, he could offer some kind of answer. "Something struck me, the other day, after this misadventure of Q's," he began. "The traveling through time—it was almost Dickensian, if you will, in its effect. And it occurred to me that it's December on Earth right now."

"Oh. I suppose I tend to lose track." Beverly took his proffered arm as he started towards the cottage. "So—you were just thinking of winter?"

He shook his head. "Well, specifically, it's Christmastime. The holiday was yesterday, so it's within the traditional twelve days right now. I know it's not something we have ever observed, and it's not as though I have halcyon memories of it. But seeing the date, I was suddenly reminded of _this_ place, and the handful of times I would come here alone at this time of year." He hesitated, then turned the wrought iron doorknob and led them inside. "Of course I never did much with it at the time, but I thought I might try now…"

The half-timbered cottage wasn't nearly as old as the city had appeared to be, but the heavy wooden door and framing details made it feel of a piece with the old-fashioned milieu. In one corner of the single great room stood a fir tree, of modest height but splendidly decorated with white lights and shiny glass ornaments. A circular wool rug lay in between the tree and a cozy arrangement of couches. To their left, by the small kitchen in the corner, a sideboard was set with a platter of cheeses and charcuterie, along with choices of coffee and wine.

Beverly pulled off her hat and smoothed out the static from her hair with one hand. "Jean-Luc, this is wonderful. Mmm—is that brie?"

"Comté, Morbier. They're quite good." He shrugged out of his coat and helped her out of hers, placing them on hooks by the entryway. "I'm glad you like this. Hopefully it's warm enough here inside."

"It should be. The hike was worth it, though." A suggestive smile crossed her lips as she stepped slowly towards him, rubbing her hands on her upper arms to warm up. "And I suspect, if I do still feel cold, you might be able to help with that."

With no little effort, Picard kept a perfectly neutral expression on his face as he replied. "Of course. I can turn the heat settings up at any time."

Thrown off her game for a moment, Beverly recovered quickly and laughed. "Right."

"Did you have something else in mind, Doctor?" he murmured, leaning in closer.

"I did, in fact." She wrapped his scarf around one hand, hovered within centimeters of his lips for several tantalizing seconds...

And with a poker face at least the equal of his, drew back and said matter-of-factly, "We could ask the computer to add a fireplace."

It was his turn to chuckle. "Computer, add fireplace against the rear wall, with wood-burning fire, low intensity," he called, locking eyes with hers. As the pleasantly crackling flames materialized behind her, though, he shook his head. "Not quite enough," he decided, and kissed her.

Desire kindled with every delicious sensation of her body against his—the shock of her cold hands sliding under his sweater, the smoothness of her cheeks against the sandpaper of his, the goosebumps arising on her cool skin as he slipped his hands over the swell of her chest. With every touch the slow burn increased, suffusing him with a rising heat he could feel matched in her.

Beverly braced against the back of one couch, eliciting a groan from him as she pulled his hips hard towards her. With a gasp of her own she brought her lips to his ear. "This is...very nice."

He nodded, brushing a kiss against the side of her neck, feeling her involuntary shiver of anticipation. "Are you warmer now?"

"Mmm. That's a definite yes."

He was entranced by the play of light and shadows from the firelight against her hair. A wonder he hadn't thought of it sooner. "And you have no other plans for today?"

She shrugged in his arms, lapsing into her familiar teasing grin. "Well...I think I have plans with the cheese and wine over there."

Picard sighed in mock disappointment. "Beverly."

"All right, I suppose they can wait," she amended. Her arms tightened around him, and her voice turned serious again. "Jean-Luc...thank you for bringing me here."

"You're very welcome," he murmured. The novel feel of her palms against the small of his back, straying lower bit by bit, was incredible, but he forced himself to concentrate on forming words. "I wouldn't have asked anyone else."

Beverly studied his face for a moment, the question remaining unspoken this time, but he thought it was the same as before: _why?_ Why here, why now? He knew his earlier explanation had probably been inadequate. But to a profoundly humbling degree she actually understood him better than anyone ever had, so maybe it had sufficed after all...

She glanced over at the tree and then rested her chin on his shoulder. "Christmas past," she mused thoughtfully.

He smiled against her hair, let his hands drift up underneath her shirt. "And present, and future." It was at once a suggestion—a hope—a promise.

"Yes. Yes, I think so," she agreed, bringing her lips to his again. "Merry Christmas, Jean-Luc."


End file.
